


Grin and Bear It

by Rose_of_Pollux



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:46:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which Illya doesn’t want to ruin Napoleon’s chances at an escape
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683037
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	Grin and Bear It

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the “Hiding an Injury” prompt for Bad Things Happen Bingo

Ever since being assigned as Napoleon’s partner years ago, Illya held it as his personal obligation to never hold his partner back. It was something he held as a sacred oath (well, as sacred as an agnostic could hold anything).

And so, when Napoleon rescued him after being chained inside yet another damp, gray THRUSH cell, Illya had refused to let on that he had several abrasions and rope burns beneath his turtleneck from where he had been bound and dragged by his captors on the way to his (thankfully temporary) prison.

Illya had assessed his wounds already—they would heal, and Napoleon was already paying too much attention to the cuff marks on his wrists when he should be focusing on his escape. If Napoleon knew about those, he would surely stop and insist on treating them—and that would be losing valuable time for his escape.

…In hindsight, he should’ve realized that Napoleon would’ve seen through it. Napoleon was always in tune to how Illya was feeling—it was something that surprised Illya at first, for he had never met anyone that concerned for his feelings. But Napoleon was different. Napoleon _cared…_

…Napoleon loved him.

And so, he put up with it—for he loved him in return, and enduring a bit of pain was nothing if it ensured Napoleon’s escape. Fortunately, Illya exceeded in the ability to maintain a deadpan expression, even in the face of pain. He was able to keep up with Napoleon as they fled; anyone else glancing at him wouldn’t have been able to tell that he was in any pain whatsoever.

But he had neglected to remember that Napoleon was an expert at reading him, despite however hard he tried to hide his emotions behind yet another neutral expression.

Sure enough, as they made their escape into the forest, Napoleon repeatedly glanced back at him, as though confirming what he was thinking.

“We’ll stop here,” he announced, at last, as they came upon a secluded area of the underbrush.

“We should keep going,” Illya insisted, knowing it was useless. “Keep a larger gap between us and THRUSH--”

“If we keep going, it’ll mean your injuries will get worse,” Napoleon countered, indicating for Illya to take cover. He suppressed a smirk at Illya’s indignant expression. “In case you’re wondering, I could tell by your breathing.”

Illya rolled his eyes, but knew he couldn’t be surprised. He sat down, and finally allowed himself to wince; Napoleon sat down next to him and briefly indicated for Illya to lift his turtleneck. Napoleon exhaled as he saw the abrasions.

“They look worse than they are,” Illya insisted.

“Really? Considering that you spent so long hiding them from me, I’ll decide for myself,” Napoleon insisted. He paused. “…Why, Illya?”

“Why else? I did not wish to impede your escape.”

“And did you really think I wouldn’t have found a nice place to hide, like so, to treat you?” he asked, gently applying some antiseptic. Illya exhaled sharply as it stung, but he remained with a neutral expression. “If I’d tried something like this, you wouldn’t have let me hear the end of it,” Napoleon added.

“Naturally. I assume you won’t?”

“Naturally,” Napoleon echoed. “I rarely get a chance at this—I’m going to enjoy it.”

Illya rolled his eyes again, but listened as Napoleon continued to chide him—at least until, once the edge had been taken off of the pain, he managed to fall into a much-needed sleep to recover from his ordeal, slumped against Napoleon’s shoulder.

And Napoleon just drew a fond arm around him, keeping watch through the night.

“Glad to have you back, _Tovarisch_ ,” he said, softly, sending a silent thanks to whatever providence that had allowed him to find Illya before he had received any worse injuries.


End file.
